Tribute
by amber belle
Summary: When Hermione agrees to write the War Tribute edition of the Daily Prophet, she doesn't bargain on having to follow philanthropist Blaise Zabini around for a week.
1. Before

**A/N: **So I forgot to put a disclaimer up last time – this is the third time I've posted this story... I haven't got the hang of all this yet :P

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter

...and on with the story

* * *

Hermione Granger was having a bad hair day. Well, more like a bad _everything _day. She had been stopped by no less than seven of her colleagues on her way to her office, who all wanted to talk to her about the fact that she was covering the War Tribute edition of the _Daily Prophet_, and ask her what her plans were, and tell her that she'd better do a good job after last year's issue, and how they were looking forward to seeing it.

She, however, wasn't. Hermione hated this time of year, and the memories it brought back, and pretending to be enthusiastic about covering the year's biggest event was not helping her current situation. Which was the fact that she was late. _Damn_.

By the time she finally made it to her office, Hermione was so desperately in need of coffee, she thought she might faint. Luckily, her assistant, Susan, had anticipated her plight (which wasn't hard – Hermione was addicted to caffeine) and had taken the liberty of leaving a huge, steaming cup of the stuff on her desk.

"Thank-you," yelled Hermione in the general direction of Susan's desk, taking a large sip and sighing in content.

Susan poked her head around the door and grinned.

"No problem. I figured you'd need it. Boss came down about ten minutes ago, so I told him you were stuck in the loo-"

"Gee, thanks," muttered Hermione.

"-and he gave me these briefs, plus a copy of last years' War Tribute edition – don't roll your eyes, it's useful – and your 12:30 appointment," finished Susan, still beaming, and waving a large bunch of papers, which Hermione grabbed and dumped on her desk. Susan shook her head and turned to go back to her desk.

"Make sure you actually _read_ them," she called over her shoulder as she left.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Susan's back then sighed. She _did_ have a bit of a tendency to overlook some of the briefs that Susan left on her desk, but there were always so many of them. She looked at her desk ruefully then shook her head. She would never get any work done if she procrastinated. She sat down, picked up the first of the papers - a sheet letting her know what she was expected to report at the staff meeting the following afternoon - and, taking a large gulp of coffee, let herself become absorbed in her work.

So absorbed, in fact, that when Susan knocked on her door three hours later, she almost jumped out of her skin. She looked up to see her, grinning as usual, standing in the doorway. Hermione felt a sudden, irrational flash of irritation at Susan. Could the girl never be subdued, unhappy? She dismissed this thought as quickly as it had come. Susan had had her fair share of unhappiness during the War, just like the rest of them. She shouldn't take her bad day out on Susan just because she was perpetually cheerful.

"What's up?" she asked, unable to cover the slight note of somberness that was in her voice. Susan gave her a slightly puzzled look and raised her eyebrows.

"Your 12:30 is here," she replied.

"Nonsense. It's not 12:30 yet..." Hermione's voice trailed off as she glanced down at her watch and saw that it was indeed 12:30. Her eyes flicked from her watch to the still large pile of papers that hadn't looked at yet with a growing sense of horror. She could have sworn that the stack was the same size – bigger, even – as it had been three hours ago. At this rate, she was set to be reading briefs for the rest of her life. She looked back up at Susan.

"Send them in," she said faintly. Susan gave her a look that may have been sympathetic – or may have been indigestion. They tended to look the same on Susan.

"As you wish," she replied.

As Susan turned from the doorway, Hermione wondered vaguely who her 12:30 actually was – unsurprisingly, she hadn't reached that particular brief yet. A politician, perhaps, or some kind of celebrity. Maybe a foreign figure, like the French Minister of Magic. She had it on very good authority that the man was crazy.

Whoever it was that she was expecting, however, it was not Blaise Zabini.

* * *

Blaise shook the soot out of his hair and wondered, yet again, if the world was still so paranoid that they couldn't take down the anti-apparition wards that still protected every well known building in Britain. Arriving by floo was just _not_ stylish.

Blaise smirked to himself, reflecting that that was a very Draco-ish thing to say. The two of them _definitely_ needed to get out more, since Blaise appeared to be thinking like his best friend. A cough brought him out of his musings, and he looked up to see Susan Bones staring pleasantly back at him with a twinkle in her eye.

"Bones!" he said with some surprise. "It's been years."

"Yes – the same amount of time it's been since anyone called me 'Bones'", she replied. "I know thirty-seven ways to kill a person, Blaise. _Without _magic. Call me that again, and I'll use one."

Blaise's eyebrows went up, and he suppressed the slight shiver he felt at Susan's tone, not because it was cold, but because it was the same cheerful voice he remembered from the War.

"Well, Susan, I didn't expect to see you here," he said, as if her words hadn't affected him at all. He smiled charmingly. "I didn't know you worked for Granger."

"With," corrected Susan as she rose and moved over to a door that said "Hermione Granger" on a brass plate, and "World Genius" on a scrap of parchment underneath. Blaise smirked as he recognized the surprisingly neat loops of Harry Potter's handwriting. Susan knocked on the door and poked her head around it without waiting for a reply. He heard Granger say something, and Susan reply, but he tuned them out until Susan turned from the door and said to him, "In you go."

He nodded and stepped through the door as Granger looked up at him. She opened her mouth, then stopped, looking at him in surprise, eyebrows up.

"Granger," he said smiling in a way that had always pissed her off during the War. "Long time no see."

Her eyes narrowed as he sat, uninvited, in the chair across from hers. He smirked as her brown eyes snapped with anger in way that was very familiar. Although, he thought, pausing to look her over, not much else was. Her hair had de-frizzed considerably, and her face was more mature – though whose wasn't, after the War? He shook his head and smirked at her.

"I see you've managed to tame your hair," he drawled at her. Granger's eyes widened for a moment, and then she glared at him and opened her mouth. However, the sharp retort he was expecting never came.

"Suze," she called instead, looking at the door. Blaise twisted slightly so he could see the door.

"Yeah?" said Susan, appearing in the doorway.

Granger gave her look that said explain.

"What? He's your 12:30," said Susan. "It was in the brief." She paused. "You did _read _the brief, didn't you?"

"What, the one about the catering witch on the fifth floor who thinks pink and silver is a nice theme for the page layout of the War Tribute, or the one about the intern who thinks that today's most pressing issue is the fact that the Weasley twins are taking over the world with their chain of joke shops?"

"I wouldn't say taking over - "

"Shut up, Zabini," snapped Granger.

"I'll take that as a no, then, shall I?" said Susan cheerfully. "Have fun."

Blaise watched with amusement as Susan turned and shut the door behind her, then looked back at Granger, who was shuffling through a large pile of parchment, eyes still snapping, grumbling under her breath.

"Quite a bit of work you've got there, Granger," he smirked.

"You know, Zabini, anyone would think you point out the obvious just hear your own voice," she retorted as she pulled the page she needed from the pile. She scanned it over, and Blaise watched as she frowned and her eyes darkened. _Uh-oh_, he thought, as she pressed her lips together and looked up at him.

"Zabini, how much did you know about this article?" she asked, her tone light and her face composed. Blaise raised his eyebrow.

"Your hand is twitching," he replied. She narrowed her eyes. _Maybe _not_ so composed_, thought Blaise.

"Wrong answer," she snapped. "According to this, I'm to accompany you for a week to get a full picture of the work you do, and to better the Wizarding community's understanding of the person who has given so much..." she read from the page. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, but her eyes almost resigned. She massaged her temple with one hand, and all of a sudden she looked exhausted.

A smirk spread across his face.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, Granger."

"Just what I always dreamed of," she muttered sarcastically, but there was no real bite to her tone. She shook her head. "Any one would think I have nothing better to do than to follow you around noting your every move."

"Come on, Granger. Girls would be dying to be in your position," he teased.

"Quite," she replied, pulling out a piece of blank parchment and a quill. She dipped her quill into the ink pot on her desk and looked up at him, eyes almost amiable.

"Tell me about yourself, Zabini."

* * *

Hermione had been writing for almost an hour, and her hand was killing her. She had decided that knowing a bit about Zabini would cut back the work for her when she "accompanied" him for a week. What she hadn't known was that his life was so... extensive.

"...and, as you know, I was a bit of a loner at school, so I decided that I should get there a bit more and be – well, me, I suppose," he said, looking thoughtful. Hermione groaned and dropped her head on her desk with a thump.

"Granger? Something wrong?" asked Zabini, and Hermione couldn't quite tell if he was being sincere or not. She chose to glare up at him anyway.

"I think I know enough about you now, Zabini, so let's just work out when I'm going to accompany you," she said tightly. She was this close to exploding, and she _really_ didn't want to give Zabini the satisfaction.

Zabini's smirk fell from his face almost comically as Hermione hauled her enormous diary onto her desk.

"Merlin, Granger! How do you _manage _that thing?"

"It's a little thing called a feather light charm, Zabini. Aren't you meant to be a wizard? And, you know, use _magic_?" she asked, amused for the first time that day. He scowled at her.

"Funny, Granger."

"Oh, I thought so," she said, almost cheerful, flipping through pages of her diary. She paused suddenly and frowned. _That's odd..._

"Suze?" she called, still staring at the page she'd stopped at.

"What's up?" asked the perpetually cheerful girl, appearing in the room.

"Is there a reason why this week is entirely empty?"

Both Susan and Zabini leant forward and looked at the page Hermione was pointing at.

"That's odd," said Susan. "The spell's not meant to work that way."

Hermione gave another of her "explain" looks.

"Erm...well, I don't really understand it myself, but it's basically cleared your week so you have time to follow – I mean, accompany – Blaise."

"What happens to the rest of the appointments?" asked Zabini.

There was a small silence, then Hermione turned the page.

"Shit," muttered Zabini, but Hermione barely heard him. She felt faint, and her head was spinning. There was absolutely _no way_ she could take on that much work, and still organize the War Tribute. She dropped it into her hands in an effort to stop the room from going round and round and round...

Okay, so that obviously wasn't going to work. _Shit.

* * *

_

Blaise's mouth hung open as he and Susan stared at Granger's diary. It was full. Literally. He peered closer.

"Hang on," he said. "It says here that you have three people scheduled for 9:00, and two for 9:15. And another at 9:30. How're you going to manage all that?"

Granger gave a little whimper and shook her head, which was still in her hands.

"Shut up, Blaise. Merlin, Mya, I'm sorry!" said Susan, sounding far more serious than usual. She moved around the desk and carefully pulled Granger's hands from her face. "I really didn't think that would happen. Boss just told me about it...maybe I did the spell wrong!"

"Well, I did know you were all trying to get rid of me, but I thought you'd be a bit more inventive than over-exhaustion," she replied morosely. Susan snorted.

"Not funny, sweetie," she said.

"Who said I was being funny?" asked Granger. Susan took one look at her face and shook her head.

"Oh, no, Hermione Granger, not this time! You are going to take a deep breath, which _would_ actually require you to _breathe_, and then you are going to admit, very calmly and very rationally, that you _cannot_ take on this much work, because you _will_ over-exhaust yourself, and you are going up to tell Boss that _right now!_" she said vehemently.

Blaise's mouth was open in shock, his eyes flicking between the two women. He'd honestly had no idea that Susan was that strong minded. He'd always thought Hufflepuff's were a bit – well..._puffy_, really. He watched as Granger's mouth opened, probably with some sharp retort, but before she could say anything, a loud tapping came from the window.

Both women started and looked towards the window.

"Hedwig!" said Granger, leaping up to open it. Potter's snow white owl soared in and landed on the table, looking at the three of them almost haughtily – which was odd, because Potter was many, annoying things, but haughty he was not.

"I swear, that owl is going to start making _Harry_ fetch all the post soon," said Susan, rolling her eyes.

Granger snorted and gave Susan a pointed look as she untied the letter on Hedwig's leg.

"Whose fault is that?" she asked archly. Susan just smirked and shook her head. Blaise watched Granger as her fingers deftly broke the seal on the letter and un-rolled the parchment. He'd always had a thing about hands, and Granger's had particularly fascinated him during the War. They were average in size, but her fingers were longish and slender. Her palms were slightly roughened with scars and burns from days of fighting, and her nails were always short and blunt. She used her hands a lot when she was talking, capturing his attention, though never quite distracting him, since he'd always

had that handy ability of being able to do two things at once – something of a rarity in men.

_Like now_, he thought, as he flicked his eyes up to study Granger's face as she read her letter. _Watching Granger's hands while still keeping some sense of mind. _He shook his head – why was he thinking about Granger's hands anyway? – and looked closer at her face as she frowned.

"What's wrong?" asked Susan, her voice laced with concern. Granger just shook her head, glancing up distractedly.

"I've got to go," she said.

"You sure?" Granger nodded as she dropped the letter on the desk, and picked up her bag.

"What about the diary?" said Susan, gesturing it.

"I'll deal with it later," muttered Granger, moving towards the door. "I'll see you next Monday, Zabini," she said over her shoulder as she left the room, "tell Boss I've gone home sick, Suze."

"Sure thing, Mya," murmured Susan to her retreating back.

Blaise stood there for a moment, slightly confused, then turned to Susan.

"Um?" he asked.

Susan was darting her eyes between the door and the letter. When she was sure that Granger was gone, she reached out and plucked up the sheet of parchment. Blaise paused for a moment, deliberating, then moved forward and leaned over her shoulder to read.

_Mya – _

_You'll have gotten it by now, I s'pose. Depressing, isn't it? Nev had to open it for me – couldn't quite bring myself to. Two years. And what have we got to show for it? Bloody nothing. _

_Can you believe they've asked me to do a speech? Me being a hero and all. Asked them why they didn't ask last year (Nev didn't much like that). Apparently my mental state was still in deliberation. What the hell do they know about that? They're not Healers. I could still be bloody mental. Stupid prats._

_It's not as if I'm angry or anything (so your Mum's china is safe). I just wonder. About all these people who think that by getting rid of Voldemort, the world is suddenly a happy, cheerful place with sunshine and rainbows. They should know better. The sun never shines in Britain. _

_Bet you a galleon Ron'll get here before you (but I don't, cos we all know he will. Did we ever figure out how he manages to do that?)._

_- Harry _

Susan made a sound that was halfway through concern and amusement. Blaise struggled to remember why he hadn't taken his adviser's advice (after all, what was he there for?) and left the invitation for Potter to speak at the tribute Ball 'til next year. The bloke was clearly still mental.

"Poor Harry," murmured Susan.

"'Poor Harry?'" said Blaise. "More like poor Granger if she has to rush of and stop him from topping himself -"

Susan whipped her head around and fixed him with a glare, and Blaise suddenly remembered that she knew thirty-seven ways to kill a person. Without magic.

Maybe he shouldn't have said that.

* * *

Hermione appeared in Harry's garden with a soft _pop_. She took a moment to collect herself and admire the new breed of tulips Nev had discovered (although they could just be normal tulips – Hermione knew nothing about flowers), then started down to the end of the garden where the bench was.

She spotted Ron's hair and the glint of the sun catching Harry's glasses, and pushed the branches of the oak tree that Harry was meant to prune (but never did) away to see them both, Ron on the bench, Harry on the grass, waiting silently for the third member of their group.

She paused, looking, then Ron turned his head and gave her a half smile and she moved towards them. She sat down on the bench next to Ron, a small sigh as she leant against him and soaked in all that was Ron.

"You just lost yourself a galleon," said Harry.

"Thought we weren't betting on account of Mr. Speedy here," said Hermione, poking Ron in the side and making him squirm and smirk.

"Hey," Ron admonished, "watch it. I'm delicate. I've had a crap day, just like our resident Boy Wonder. No poking allowed."

Hermione snorted, and Harry said, "_Man_ Wonder, thank you very much."

"I bet mine was worse," said Hermione.

"Maybe you could win back your galleon -" Ron moved out of the way, anticipating Hermione's jab.

"Go on, then. Tell us your woes," said Harry, sniggering at his best frend. Ron rolled his eyes and rested his head on Hermione's shoulder to listen.

"I," said Hermione, being slightly over-dramatic, "have to spend a _week_ following Zabini around to do a bloody article on his work for the community -"

"What work?" muttered Harry

"- and because of that – because of _him_, I have twice as much work to do in less time and my boss is an unreasonable prick and Susan's too damn _cheerful_!"

To her surprise, Hermione found she was close to tears. _Damn Zabini_, she thought. She didn't cry – not in public, anyway. She sniffled a bit against Ron's shoulder and noticed that Harry was leaning up on his elbows, looking at her in concern. Asking her about her day was no longer a diversion tactic – he was worried.

"Do I win?" asked Hermione after a moment.

Ron let out a breath of air, almost a sigh.

"You certainly win on the emotional part," he said. "But I have to work with _Malfoy_."

Hermione's lips twitched, and Harry stifled a snigger.

"I'm sure that's rife with sexual tension," he said. Ron glared, albeit half-heartedly, and gave a huff.

"It is _not_," he snapped. "It's bloody annoying. Thank Merlin I've got Lav there to play peacemaker."

"Lav? Peacemaker? Who'd have thought," smirked Harry.

"Don't tell Nev. He thinks he's marrying a spitfire," said Hermione in amusement.

"That was ever so slightly catty," murmured Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Only you, Ron," she said affectionately.

"What?"

"'Catty'? Who _says_ that anymore?"

"Buggar off," said Ron.

Harry just rolled his eyes at the two of them.

"You two haven't changed a bit."

"Thank Merlin," Hermione said softly.

Harry smiled at her, knowing she knew that he had again successfully dodged questions about how he was feeling, how he was coping. He also knew (and so did she) that he couldn't keep hiding forever.

But all the same, it was a relief to hide.

* * *

Blaise escaped Susan with barely a scratch on him. His mental state, however, was about on par with Potter's. Totally screwed.

"You're being melodramatic," said Draco, that evening in the pub.

"Says the resident Prima Donna," retorted Blaise.

"At least I'm convincingly dramatic. And when I'm not, I'm quite endearing."

Blaise gave him a look that said, 'Why in the world would a grown man want to be endearing?'

"Forgive me if that isn't my life aspiration. And who's ever said you were endearing?"

"Pansy," said Draco, and the friends paused a moment to remember their old friend.

"So Granger's following you around for a week?" asked Draco.

"Yes," said Blaise, smirking evilly.

"You know, you look kind of evil when you do that."

"You don't say," Blaise drawled, rolling his eyes. It wasn't that Draco was dim, or slow, he just had a tendency to point out the obvious. "How's Weasley doing?"

"Piss off," growled Draco. Blaise sniggered. The two men had been dancing around each other since Draco had been transferred to the Events Planning Division of the Ministry to help plan the up-coming War Tribute Event. Admittedly, it had been Blaise who had suggested that Draco be moved, but he figured it was all for a good cause.

Pity Draco disagreed.

"I bet you won't last," Draco said suddenly.

"Last what?"

"A whole week without shagging Granger."

"Prat," said Blaise. "Granger and I aren't sleeping together, so lasting a week wouldn't be a problem."

"So you're saying that you could spend a whole week with Granger and not sleep with her?"

"Of course," said Blaise. Draco raised his eyebrow at him and said nothing.

"Don't raise your eyebrow. You look creepily like your father," muttered Blaise. Draco shot him a dirty look, and signaled to the bartender for another drink. Blaise glanced around the dirty pub and waited for Draco to get sick of the silence.

"How did we end up here?" he asked suddenly.

"We apparated."

"Funny," said Draco. "I mean, Potter saved the world, Voldemort is dead, my father is dead, your father is dead, all is right and at peace, but we're still sitting here, same pub, bloody depressed."

Blaise looked at his friend for a moment.

"You're pissed," he said, slightly amused. Draco sighed and nodded.

"I know. Isn't that sad?"

"Not really," said Blaise. "If you weren't pissed I'd have been worried. You sounded scarily un-Draco like then."

"Maybe I'm getting in touch with my thoughtful side," said Draco, swigging his beer.

"I wasn't aware you had a thoughtful side," Blaise drawled, considering whether it was worth the effort to take Draco's beer off of him.

"Don't even think about it," snapped Draco, holding his beer close to his body, "or I'll set Granger on you."

"Scary," muttered Blaise sarcastically, but he couldn't help think that, yes, spending a week with Granger was a bit scary, and, maybe Draco had a point.

He wasn't sure if he _could_ last a week without shagging the girl.


	2. Monday

**A/N: **Apologies to all for the (very long) delay - I really don't have any excuses for the lateness of this chapter, but hopefully it's worth it.

And a big thank-you to my beautiful friend **jasmine roselee**, who bugged and pestered me until I _finallly_ updated :D

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. That privalige goes the very talented J. K. Rowling.

Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione stared at the scrap of parchment in her hand, then up at the old, decrepit block of flats in front of her. She could only hope that this had the same kind of enchantment on it as St. Mungo's – she couldn't exactly picture Zabini in such a run down place. 

She moved off to the right, towards an old sign on the fence. She glanced around to make sure there were no muggles watching, then touched her wand to it and muttered, "_Blaise Zabini._" The sign shuddered and names appeared with buttons next to them. She pressed the one next to _Zabini_ and heard a clinking as the chains around the gate unlocked.

She pushed her way through, and then felt her mouth drop open as she looked up at the suddenly beautiful old building.

"Can I help you?" asked a voice, and Hermione jumped. She looked around and saw a man in a green uniform standing by the door to the building.

"I'm here to see Blaise Zabini," she said. The man smiled fondly. Hermione couldn't think of a reason why anyone, bar Malfoy (though whether Malfoy ever actually smiled was still in debate), would actually smile fondly at the mention of Zabini, but she put it down to general good natured-ness.

"Flat 3a," he said. "I'm sorry, but the lifts aren't working today, so you'll have to walk."

Hermione smiled (brightly, she hoped), wondering why they couldn't just use magic on them.

"At least it's only three floors," she said.

"Three floors? Oh, no – Mr. Zabini lives on the seventh floor – he likes the view."

_Of course,_ thought Hermione, forcing a polite smile at the doorman and starting up the stairs. _Zabini likes the view. How silly of me not to have thought of that. _She paused as she got to the top of the first flight, slightly out of breath. She could hear Lav's voice in her head, rattling on about the benefits of exercise and staying healthy, and she wished she'd taken a bit more notice.

When she finally reached the seventh floor, Hermione was panting, and had a line of perspiration above her top lip. As she paused to catch her breath, her eye caught a burst of colour, and she turned to look over the balcony.

_Well,_ she thought, _I can see what all the fuss is about._ Before her lay a beautiful garden – flowers spilled onto crooked little paths and a large liquid amber shaded a bench. It reminded her of a Wordsworth poem, and the thought that she must bring Neville here crossed her mind, before she realized how silly a thought that was. She started as she heard a door open behind her, and she spun around, hand almost reaching for her wand, before she caught herself. Zabini stared at her, a mixture of amusement and confusion on his face. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

It took Hermione all of three seconds to realise that he was shirtless, and all of two for her eyes to rest on his well toned chest.

"Like what you see, Granger?" asked Zabini. Hermione's eyes snapped up to meet his, a flush spreading across her cheeks – in anger or embarrassment, it was indistinguishable – and arched her eyebrows at him.

"You're just one, big cliché, aren't you, Zabini?" she said, voice mocking, and Zabini raised his eyebrows. She wasn't sure why she was being so harsh on him, and she wasn't usually this unsettled around annoying pricks – in fact, she was famous amongst the girls for being able to calmly out-wit sleazy men in bars.

"I was talking about the view," he drawled, gesturing over her shoulder, and Hermione's cheeks flushed darker.

"Right," she said awkwardly, and Zabini smirked.

"Coming in?" he asked. Hermione shot him a look, and followed him through the door and through to the kitchen – and was pleasantly surprised at what she saw. The flat was simply decorated, but warm and homey and full of personal things. It instantly calmed Hermione (who hadn't realised that she needed calming), and she took a deep breath, smelling coffee.

"Want some?" Hermione glanced back up at Zabini to see him holding the coffee pot in one hand and a mug in the other. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Do you really need to ask?"

He smirked again and poured her a cup.

"Thanks," she said as he passed her the mug. She took a sip and shut her eyes as the hot taste of coffee filled her mouth. When she opened her eyes, Zabini was watching her, amused, and as her eyes met his, he didn't look away. In fact, his eyes lingered on her face before trailing down and back up her body. Hermione stared incredulously over the rim of the coffee cup.

_Did he just check me out? _His eyes met hers again, then he turned away and moved off into another room, calling over his shoulder that he'd just be a few minutes. Hermione barely heard him, her mind still processing the look he'd just given her. As he wandered back out (with a shirt on, and Hermione told herself she _was not_ disappointed), she studied his expression, but he looked the same as he always did – slightly bored, confident, with a wicked glint in his eyes. She shook her head – she must have imagined it.

"So where are we off to today?" she asked. Zabini grinned at her (which was very slightly disturbing).

"This morning, we're talking to a sponsor, then at lunch, I'm meeting with my accountant and in the afternoon, there's a meeting with the events committee."

"At the Ministry?"

"Yes."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. Ron hadn't mentioned anything about a meeting, although knowing Malfoy and his devious ways, Ron probably hadn't even known himself.

"Who's the sponsor?"

"Kettleburn Animal Shelter. Heard of it?"

"Yes, Zabini, I _have _heard of the most famous and highly regarded animal shelter in Wizarding Britain," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now, stand still, and kind of lean on the table with your coffee mug, and smile, don't smirk."

Zabini raised his eyebrows and looked at her, baffled.

"Why?"

Hermione grinned and pulled her camera out of her bag.

"I prefer to take my own photos. Now shut up if you're not going to say anything useful," she said as she fiddled with the lens. Zabini (unsurprisingly) couldn't keep his mouth shut, however, and kept up a steady stream of chatter as Hermione snapped away.

"Who taught you to take photos?"

"Who says I couldn't take them before?"

"Right – a closet photographer, where you?"

"Colin taught me, if you must know, and that's precisely why I take my own photos."

"Because he's bloody annoying."

"He's not. He's just -"

"Annoying?"

"Shut up. He's enthusiastic."

"That's a synonym for annoying."

"No, it's not. I really don't see how _any_ of this is useful – and your mouth keeps blurring. Be quiet for two minutes and maybe I'd get a decent picture."

Zabini smirked and opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione lowered her camera and glared at him, and he shut it with a snap. For the next few minutes, the only sound was the clicking of the camera, until Hermione stopped suddenly.

"Done. Shall we go?"

Zabini gave her a bemused look.

"We have to floo, the anti-apparition wards are still up around Kettleburn."

Hermione nodded and followed him to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder and following Zabini into the emerald flames.

* * *

Blaise stepped out of the fireplace at Kettleburn and wondered for the second time in as many weeks at the paranoia of the ministry officials in charge of apparition. At the last minute he remembered that Granger was coming through after him stepped out of the way to let her through. She arrived in a rush of soot. 

"Bloody stupid apparition wards making us floo everywhere," she grumbled as she brushed soot off of her clothes.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Princess," said a voice from the other side of the office they had arrived in.

"Charlie!" Granger said, rushing forward. "I _told_ you not to call me that!"

"Oops," said Charlie Weasley, part owner and manager of Kettleburn, as he caught her in a hug. "Must have missed that memo."

"Funny," said Granger, smiling and hugging him back tightly. "I'm pretty sure it was a howler."

"Oh yeah, that. I sent it to Percy for his birthday. Special treat, you know." Granger laughed and punched him on the shoulder.

Blaise rolled his eyes in disgust – it was all so incredibly _cute_.

"Touching as this little reunion is," he said in his best Draco drawl, "we are actually here for a reason."

Granger arched an eyebrow at him.

"So sorry, Your Highness," she said sarcastically. "God forbid anyone should ever keep you waiting."

Weasley sniggered, and Blaise glared at him in annoyance.

"Can we get on with this? Animal shelters aren't my thing."

Weasley smirked.

"Why am I not surprised, Zabini?"

Blaise huffed. Out of all the Weasleys, Charlie was always the one he had been able to tolerate the most – but that didn't mean he liked the bloke, or that he wasn't incredibly annoying.

"I'm going this way," he said, pointing. "If I get eaten by anything, it's your fault."

Aware that he was being incredibly childish, Blaise stalked off.

"Zabini?"

"What?" he snapped, spinning around. Charlie was trying not to laugh.

"The animals are this way," he said, pointing in the opposite direction. Blaise huffed again.

"I know that," he said, rolling his eyes. "I was just making sure you did." He began to stalk in the direction Weasley was pointing, leaving him doubled over in laughter, and Granger trying to suppress her amusement.

They spent the next hour talking sponsorship and promotion while wandering around the property, and what the best way to advertise the shelter was. They were aiming to get as much publicity as possible for the refuge, since funds were starting to run low, and Weasley was refusing to let Potter donate anymore money, since he'd given so much already. This, as Blaise pointed out, made things very complicated.

"If you could just stop being a stubborn arse, maybe we wouldn't have a problem!"

"I'm trying very hard here to figure out what the problem actually is!"

"You know that no matter how much money is donated at the event, it'll not be enough to cover all the costs! If you just let Potter give you some -"

"He's given too much already, I can't ask him -"

"The bloke is swimming in money! And he's _offering_!It wouldn't make much difference to him -"

"Why do you even care? This doesn't concern you!"

"It does if I spend all this time trying to get people to donate, and at the end of it all, it's not enough and the shelter is still in trouble -"

"Oh, so that's what this is about! You can't be bothered with the effort!"

"I never said that -"

"Yes, you did!"

Needless to say, it wasn't going so well.

* * *

Hermione wandered through the barn behind the arguing boys – although she supposed she should be calling them men, not that they acted like them, the prats – snapping pictures of the animals and occasionally scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. 

She was lost in her own thoughts, barely noticing her own surroundings, when she heard a low groaning sound coming from one of the pens that she had just passed. She paused, took a few steps back, and looked in. A hippogriff was lying on the ground, eyes half closed, and Hermione didn't know much about animals – despite all the time she had spent around people who did – but she knew that there was something wrong with this one.

She looked around for Charlie, but couldn't see him – she could still hear him, though, arguing with Zabini. They must have turned the corner when she hadn't been looking. She paused, deliberating for a moment, before hurrying down the aisle and turning the corner. She spotted a flash of red further down, and walked quickly towards it. She didn't want to frighten the animals by running or calling out – that much, she knew.

As she reached him, she realised that Charlie was still arguing with Zabini, and she sighed mentally. Some things never changed. Hermione reached out and tapped him on the arm.

"Charlie -"

"Not now, Mya – honestly, Zabini if you'd just shut up -"

"_Me_? If you would stop being so stubborn -"

"_Charlie_ -"

"Just a minute, Mya -"

"– and I don't see why _I'm_ the one in the wrong -"

"Charlie Weasley, if you don't turn around and listen to me _right now_, I'll -"

Hermione broke off as both men turned and gaped at her tone of voice (which sounded remarkably like Molly Weasley). _Finally_. She smiled sweetly at Charlie.

"Thank you. Now, there's a hippogriff 'round the corner that doesn't look very well, which I'm sure you'd have noticed if -"

Charlie was already moving down the aisle and around the corner before she had time to finish her sentence. She huffed a little, and followed him.

"Whoa, wait up Granger, what's wrong with the hippogriff?" Zabini fell into step beside her.

"How should I know? It looks sick."

"You did Care of Magical Creatures," said Zabini, as if that explained everything.

"So did you."

"Well, yes, but you concentrated. I didn't."

"There's a difference between concentrating in class and immediately being able to immediately identify what's wrong with a hippogriff," snapped Hermione, forcing down the annoyance that Zabini _always_ managed make her feel as they turned the corner. Charlie was already in the stall, and Hermione sped up, away from Zabini, because _Merlin,_ he was annoying her right now.

She peered over the door of the stall just as Charlie looked up.

"She doesn't look to good. I'm going to have to sort this out."

"Anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head and looked past Hermione to Zabini.

"Sorry, can we finish this some other time?"

"Sure thing," said Zabini, although there was something in his voice that made Hermione turn to look at him, and something in his eyes as well – something slightly frantic. She blinked in confusion and suddenly he was back in control, Slytherin mask well in place. He grasped her arm and started to lead her away from the stall.

"Hey – Zabini – what -" Hermione sputtered indignantly, trying to twist out of his grip. "Charlie -"

"I'll see you later, Princess," he said firmly, mind already on the hippogriff, and before she could tell him off for calling her that _dreadful_ nickname, Hermione was half way to the office, ready to floo to whatever Zabini was doing next.

"All right, all right, you can let go of me now," she said, untangling herself from his hold and shooting him a dirty look. "And what was all that about?"

"All what?" asked Zabini, looking slightly confused – and slightly shifty eyed.

"Your panicky eyes – you haven't done that since our Arithmancy N.E.W.T in seventh year," she said. Zabini looked at her, eyes wide in surprise.

"You remember that kind of thing?" he asked, and Hermione huffed in annoyance.

"Just answer the question, Zabini," she said, but he shook his head.

"Not here," he said shortly, and refused to say another word.

* * *

Blaise took a sip of tea and tried to get his thoughts in order – something that was hard to do when Granger was tapping her nails on the table top across from him, practically vibrating with impatience. 

They were sitting in the little teashop in Hogsmeade (_not_ Madame Puddifoot's) where he was meeting Adrian Pucey, his accountant, to discuss funds.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked snappishly. "You know, with the panicky eye thing?"

"Just a minute," he muttered in response, and Granger huffed impatiently.

"I haven't got all day, you know," she said.

"Actually you do," Blaise pointed out, "since you're the one following _me_ around."

The look on Granger's face reminded Blaise just how volatile the former Gryffindor was. He sighed, not entirely willing to spill the entire story to a journalist.

"Kettleburn Animal Shelter is in trouble. They're low in funds and don't have the resources to care for some of the animals properly. The main point of them sponsoring the Tribute Event is so that people will be encouraged to donate money to the shelter, so that we can boost their resources. Even so, it wouldn't be enough, so Potter and I, in one of our rare moments of agreement, decided that he could, as a War hero, donate money to the shelter to further encourage the public to open their pockets. It would have worked very well, except Weasley won't accept the money, because he's a stubborn old mule, and I have no time between now and the event to make him listen," finished Blaise, rubbing his temples.

There was silence from the other side of the table, and Blaise looked up and across at Granger. She studied him carefully, and seemed about to say something when a loud, squealing voice called his name.

"Blaise, darling, you're early!"

Blaise looked around to see Daphne Greengrass, former fellow Slytherin and his accountant's secretary, bearing down on them like a sparkly yellow tractor. He grimaced inwardly, but smiled his most charming smile as he rose to meet her.

"Daphne, it's been too long," he said as she pecked both his cheeks. "You remember Hermione Granger, from school?"

The look on Daphne's face when she spotted Granger sitting at the table, watching them coolly, was priceless. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tightened and her face flushed a dull red.

"Hermione," she cooed, eyes flashing viciously, "how _are _you? And – oh! What _did_ you do to your hair? You should _sue_ whoever butchered it like that!"

Blaise's eyebrows went up at that. He'd assumed that the two would dislike each other, considering their respective houses at school, but this was nothing less than pure, cold hate.

It was brilliant.

He turned his head expectantly to see how Granger responded. He was not disappointed.

"Daphne, sweetheart, I'm wonderful," she said, voice sugary sweet. "And how's Adrian? Last I heard, he was sleeping with his secretary – but – wait, that's _you_! My dear, tell me the rumours aren't true!"

"My dear Hermione, I don't know _where_ you heard that! Who would say such things?" asked Daphne, an edge to her voice.

"Plenty of people, darling, it's common news these days – and next time you're going out in public, please do _try_ to avoid wearing something that looks like a sparkly, yellow truck. It's ever so slightly tacky."

Blaise spluttered and tried to disguise it as a cough – how Granger had managed to say exactly what he'd been thinking was a mystery to him. He decided to take pity on Daphne, who was quite obviously losing this battle of wits.

"Was there something you needed to tell me, Daphne?"

All at once, Daphne was a sweetness and pie, and Blaise rolled his eyes mentally. Some people never changed.

"Oh, silly me, I almost forgot," she said, giggling. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise saw Granger wince. "Adrian can't make today, he's got another appointment -"

"With a marriage counsellor?" asked Granger wickedly.

"I'd watch it if I were you, Granger," said Daphne viciously. "I could ruin you."

"And I you," replied Granger, "after all, I am the journalist here."

"Daphne – did Adrian say anything else?" asked Blaise, desperation tinging his voice.

"He said to contact him to find another time and sorry for the inconvenience. He forgot that he'd double booked, poor dear – he's such a busy man," sighed Daphne, going glassy eyed.

"Isn't it your job to make appointments for Pucey?" asked Granger. "Not very good at your work, are you – although I s'pose he keeps you for other reasons."

Blaise's jaw dropped in astonishment – as did Daphne's, although that was more from anger. Feeling almost sorry for the vapid girl, he stood.

"Thank you for bringing the message, Daphne, I won't keep you any longer."

Daphne took no notice of him (which was unfortunate, because he was trying to rescue her by getting her out of here), and glared viciously at Granger.

"This isn't over, Granger. You'd better watch your back."

With that, admittedly weak, parting remark, Blaise's accountant's secretary flounced out of the café. Blaise's hopes of a normal day went with her.

"Thanks," he snapped sarcastically.

"What? She's awful," said Granger, frowning. Suddenly, comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh dear. You don't have time to see Pucey again, do you? And I scared off his secretary. Sorry."

"It's fine," said Blaise tiredly, resigned to the fact that nothing was going to go right for him this week. There was a very awkward pause, and then Granger said,

"What time do we have to be at the Ministry?"

"One-thirty," replied Blaise, grateful for the mundane conversation that left his mind free to think about other things. "It shouldn't take too long, provided that Draco and Weasley haven't killed each other yet."

"Sexual tension," muttered Granger, so quietly that Blaise thought he had heard wrong.

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't noticed? I thought it was obvious. After all, you are his best friend."

"Of course I've noticed. I just didn't think you would have."

"Why on earth not?"

"Well -" started Blaise, then decided against what it was he had been going to say. It wasn't exactly complimentary, and he really didn't want to piss Granger off. Instead, he smiled charmingly.

"Why don't we have some lunch?"

* * *

They caught the tube to the Ministry, mainly because Zabini seemed to have a fascination with it that rivalled Mr. Weasley's. Having grown up in North London, the tube was mundane to her, but Zabini's childlike amusement made the trip quite funny. 

Actually, it was hilarious.

By the time they got to their station, Hermione's jaw hurt from repressing her laughter and Zabini's face was getting haughtier by the second. As they exited the station and followed the crowds across the road, Zabini kept up a stony silence.

Reaching the familiar red telephone box, Hermione squeezed in behind Zabini. There were a few moments of very awkward silence, in which Hermione smelt the scent of coffee and something else, and felt the other man's presence very acutely.

"What's the number?" he asked suddenly, and Hermione jumped. Tentatively, she reached around him to press the keys, feeling her cheeks heat slightly as she brushed her arm against his back. Thank Merlin he couldn't see her face.

"I'd've thought you'd know," she said as the lift went down, the cool female voice announcing the Atrium.

"Forgot," ground out Zabini, face flushing slightly, stalking ahead to the security desk. Hermione looked at him curiously.

"You're not still annoyed that I laughed at you, are you?" she asked incredulously as they had their wands checked. They moved on towards the lifts. "Because, honestly, that's a bit sad."

"Can't you just be _quiet_, Granger!" snapped Zabini angrily. "You don't _always_ have to speak!"

Hermione stopped and turned to look at him, blocking his path, shocked at the outburst from the usually collected man. She tried to catch his eye but couldn't, so she spun on her heel and stalked off. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for the lift to arrive, and sensing Zabini's anger from behind her. What he was annoyed about, she had no idea. _Honestly,_ she thought, _he is_ such_ a child._

By the time they reached the Events office there was a thick tension between the two of them, and Hermione would have probably carried her bad mood in with her had she not found her arms full of a very stressed Lavender.

"Hermione! I need to talk to you about bridesmaid dresses! And shoes! Oh, and Nev's grandma wants purple roses but I _hate_ roses and I really don't want to argue with her, so do you think maybe you could tell her? Because she loves you, and I think she wishes you were marrying Nev instead and oh _God_ why am I doing this?"

Carefully untangling Lav's hands from her clothes, Hermione smiled soothingly.

"You love him and he loves you, Lav, and don't you ever forget it. Mrs Longbottom can go hang if she thinks you're not good enough for Nev, and what does she know anyway? She's an old bat. So, take a deep breath and calm down," said Hermione, squeezing Lav's hand. However, Lav's face still looked worried.

"Ron walked out," she said, running a hand through her dark blonde hair.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, obviously, Granger, he got up and walked out of the room," drawled Malfoy.

Lav spun around instantly.

"Stop being such a prat!" she snapped.

"Lav!" Hermione caught her friend's hand. "Calm down! I'm sure Ron's fine, he's -"

The door opened and Ron appeared.

"– right there."

"Who's where?" he asked, ignoring the two ex-Slytherins in the room and striding towards Hermione and Lavender.

"You're here," said Lav, beaming. Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course I am. I said I would be."

"Well, you're not exactly -" started Malfoy, but before he could finish his sentence, Hermione had cut him off.

"Don't. You. Dare, Draco Malfoy. Let's just _get on_ with the meeting. _Now._" Feeling anger spiking through her, she strode to the table, dropped her bag on it, and glared at them all expectantly.

"Well?"

* * *

"We've already _decided_ on the colours, remember? We had a vote!" 

"Oh, and what a fair vote that was! When two thirds of this team used to be Gryffindors, I'd hardly expect you to have taste -"

"And what would you have suggested? Green and silver? How _tasteful_!"

"If you'd ever bothered to ask me, maybe I would have given my opinion -"

"You don't need to be asked for your opinion, Malfoy, you give it any way, and most of the time it's unwanted -"

"Well, I would expect you to agree with someone like me!"

Blaise rubbed his hand over his face and tried desperately to tune out the argument Weasley and Draco were having. The other member of the Events team, Lavender Brown, had given up long ago, and, having had more practise, was successfully ignoring the shouts of the men (_Or boys_, added Blaise's mind) and drawing what looked like bridesmaid's dresses on her parchment.

Just as the shouts reached an almost unbearable level, there was a flash of light and a clicking noise as Granger lowered her camera from her eye and smiled winningly.

"For posterity," she said. "We wouldn't want you to forget all your lovely rows, now, would we?"

Blaise wondered when it was that he'd forgotten that she was in the room. Somehow, this confident, bossy young woman had managed to become unobtrusive and unnoticeable to all. Realising that it was this that mad her such a good journalist, Blaise remembered her acting this way in the War – especially in Order meetings. She had been one of the senior members by the time he'd joined, a year before the war ended. She'd had a lot of influence over the way things worked, but to his knowledge, she'd never really wanted to use it. She preferred to leave the running of things to Lupin and Potter, and to this day, he'd never known why.

Jolted out of his reverie by another flash, he frowned slightly, annoyed that the woman managed to distract him.

"Do you have to take photos of everything?"

"It's for the article," she replied.

"Yes, but honestly – some things don't need photographing!"

Granger snorted.

"I beg to differ. I only wish I'd gotten a shot of Greengrass' face in the restaurant."

"Well, I'm glad you see this all as a joke!" snapped Blaise angrily. "Thanks to you, I now have no appointment with my accountant!"

"Thanks to _me_? It was her fault for double booking you!"

"And yours for driving her away before I could make another appointment!"

"You don't even have time to make one, so what difference would it make? And anyway, have you never heard of an owl? Or is that too _common_ for you?"

Blaise was aware that Draco, Lavender and Weasley were staring at the two of them in shock, but he didn't care. He felt all of today's frustrations and setbacks rising to a head, anger bubbling through him.

"You – you just waltz in and take everything over and you tut and you sigh if it's not going your way, and – Merlin, you've not changed a bit since Hogwarts – you're still a bossy, insufferable, know-it-all!"

There was a ringing silence, and Blaise had one moment where he was still riding on the adrenaline of his outburst, and another where he suddenly felt guilty (because his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, if nothing else), and then Granger was gone, out the door with a slam, and he felt like absolute shit.

"You bastard. You bloody bastard! I swear, I'll -"

Not staying to hear the rest of Weasley's speech, Blaise followed Granger out the door and into the hall. Spying a curly brown head disappearing into the lift, he put on a spurt of speed and hurried after her. He got there just as the doors were closing and he growled in frustration. He jabbed his finger on the button and waited impatiently for the lift to arrive.

When he finally got to the Atrium, he stood on tiptoe, frantically searching for the distinctive hair. Blaise wasn't entirely sure why he needed to find her, but he did, and relief flooded through him when he spied Granger waiting near one of the floo connections. He hurried over.

"Granger! Grang – _Hermione_!" he yelled, and she turned just as he reached her and tugged her out of the queue she was in. She glared and tried to pull her arm out of his grip.

"Let _go_ of me, Zabini!"

"Not until you listen," he said, tightening his hold on her, ignoring her ferocious look. "What I said back there – I shouldn't have said it. It was uncalled for and cruel. But this isn't going to work if all we ever do is argue. So, I'm going to be the bigger person and get over it. We need to start fresh, and stop insulting each other at every chance like we're still sixteen."

Blaise let go of Granger's arm as he finished his speech, and held out his hand, smiling charmingly.

"Blaise Zabini. Delighted to meet you."

Granger looked at his hand and then up into his eyes, and something flopped down in Blaise's stomach. Her face was a mixture of amusement and exasperation, but she took his hand none the less.

"Hermione Granger. You have an amazing ability to be condescending while apologizing, you know."

Blaise smiled slightly.

"It's a talent I have."

Rolling her eyes, Granger (although he supposed it should be _Hermione_ now) gave a small laugh, extricating her hand from his.

"Is this what you're like normally?" she asked.

"What do you meant?"

"Well, when you're not being forced to spend time around annoying ex-Gryffindors – is this how you act? Because I always wondered."

Blaise studied her face. There was no bitterness or resentment on it, but her eyes had flicked from his and settled on something over his shoulder.

"Well, you'll have to see for yourself this week," he said, and large brown eyes filled his sight once more as Hermione (_That wasn't so hard_ said his mind) smiled again.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

He nodded, and she turned away and joined the line for the floo again, and Blaise watched until she was gone, although he didn't quite know why.

* * *

Back in the Events office, Ron was still swearing and Draco was dangerously close to screaming. Predicting another row any minute, Lavender pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began to doodle again, humming a tune under her breath. 

Really, if Ron didn't stop soon, she would shut him up herself. And _that_ certainly wouldn't be pretty…

* * *

By the time Hermione got back to her flat, it was getting dark. She'd been at her office, attempting to get the mounds of work she had done. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she kicked off her shoes and went in search of her fluffy slippers (a present from Lav and Susan for Christmas). She found them tucked up with Crookshanks, and she smiled affectionately at the aging cat. Tugging on her slippers and gathering Crookshanks into her arms, Hermione padded back out to the kitchen and her wine. She happened to glance at her calendar as she passed it and something caught her eye that made her back up and look again. 

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no!" she wailed, almost dropping her cat.

This was not good. This was, in fact, a disaster.

* * *

**Reviews would be much appreciated!**


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